Friday, February 14, 2014

In honor of Valentine’s Day, some friends and I have decided to share our Worst Date Ever story. (We are romantics.) My dilemma? How to narrow it down to just one.

In 2004, I met my husband at the (merciful) end of a long summer of on-line dating. Mr. Rosenberg was my 53rd first date. The stepping stone dates it took to get to my husband, flicker in my mind like a rom-com video montage. There were some average dates, plenty of nice-guy zero-chemistry dates, but the ones that stand out are the dating fails.

There was the extremely tall, minor league baseball player I met at a sports bar in Burbank. He said no more than four words to me the entire meal, but managed to chat up our waitress.

The TV editor I met at the Oaxacan place. We ordered the chicken mole´and chapulines (grasshoppers). During the meal, he had a panic attack and excused himself to call his therapist. I don’t think it was about the grasshoppers.

The experimental-video director with the white faux-hawk I met at a hipster coffee roasting shop in deepest Hollywood. He spent the date in an hour-long monologue about his ex-wife “Julia,” stopping only to show me photos of her. Also he was, by all appearances, gay as a box of birds.

I can’t forget the mini-guy with the mini-Cooper. This small-ish man asked to meet at a Korean Barbecue place in little Armenia. A struggling writer/actor/production assistant, he confided that he had looked up my name on Internet Movie Database and noticed that I was a producer. He then proceeded to pitch me an animated children’s show about singing gummy bears.

The screenwriter I met at a pub in mid-Wishire who, based on his startling non-resemblance to his photo, had obviously posted a picture of someone else on his profile. He brought me three mixed CDs of music based on what he “knew” I would like.

There was the English tutor with a script in turn-around and a famous roommate, that I met at a Starbucks in Korea Town. This guy corrected my grammar within the first five minutes of our introduction. Then, he proceeded to inform me that rather than be put-off by this, I should be grateful for the new information so I could fix my error and not appear to be uneducated.

The studio exec who insisted on meeting at a fancy-pants restaurant and then, at the end of the meal, meticulously split the bill to the penny. Two weeks later, I saw him getting into his Lexus in the parking lot of Trader Joe’s. When I waved, he pretended not to recognize me. Or something.

The sports photographer I met at the all-night diner in Los Feliz. I had high hopes for this guy, but then things started unraveling once we realized I had dated his younger brother. Then it got weird. So weird.

There was also the extremely tan, French tennis pro I met for lunch at a vegetarian place in Santa Monica. He was on a non-stop series of calls on his cell phone, the entire meal and then asked for a second date. I said, “Non.”

Thank God, I finally met the lanky musician with the studio temp job who was living with his mom. My night in shining mini-van, Mr. Rosenberg appeared, met me for sushi, and fast-forwarded my story to happily ever after.

This was AWESOME. Hearing your stories makes me want to tell mine. There was a man who came dressed as surprise!! A clown!! He just wanted me to know if I couldn't handle his airquotes hobby then best I move on. I agreed.

Especially after visiting LA last month, I guessed that dating in LA would be a nightmare. Thank you for confirming. (Although you know I probably would have gone on Date #2 with mixtape guy, just because.)

It's really nice to know that I'm not the only one with some seriously bad dates, guy who insisted he was Jim Morrison reincarnated then told me he would gladly follow me home and check for spirits in my bedroom, I'm looking at you. Fantastic story telling as usual! Thanks for the laughs and the solidarity.

Something I love about this post (other than the fact that it's both hilarious and mortifying at the same time!) is that you have managed to make every single one of those dates, including the fateful Mr. Rosenberg, sound like a template for a sit-com character.

It's stories like these that make me feel fortunate that I've never really gone on dates with people, and just met people out & about that I've 'clicked' with. But they also make me wonder if I'm missing out on some interesting experiences because of that.

Thank you for sharing these stories, though; spending Valentines Day an ocean apart from my significant other hasn't been very fun, and this has helped put a smile on my face.

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